Bookishly Jewish

The sophomore slump is a real thing for writers. Second books are always harder, because there is an expectation that a writer not only knows what they are doing but that they will surpass their first piece. In reality, each new work serves to teach writers how very little we know about anything. Plus, if a writer is truly pushing themselves, they will be trying something new each time, not rehashing the same old stuff. Figuring all that out, allowing oneself the grace to breathe and explore, is often the actual struggle of submitting a second book for publication. It’s quite different than all the manuscripts that came before, that were not published. I approached Sydney Taylor Honor recipient Deke Moulton’s second book, Benji Zeb is a Ravenous Werewolf, with this in mind. However, I actually enjoyed the read even more than I did their prior book (Don’t Want To Be Your Monster). And found it extremely fitting that anxiety was a featured topic.

The premise that the tribe of Benjamin’s blessing in Birchat Yaakov (the blessings Jaacob gives to each of his sons in the bible) refers to Benjamin being an actual wolf rather than a metaphor for his prowess in battle, is certainly far fetched, but once we get past that suspension of disbelief the results are intriguing. Thirteen year old Benji Zeb has always known he is werewolf, because his family is composed of werewolves that disguise their shape shifting ability by running a wolf sanctuary. They are also unlike traditional werewolves in horror stories – Judaism holds that a werewolf keeps their human mind intact when they shift so these are not necessarily dangerous individuals, and they have control over when they shift rather than being beholden to phases of the moon. I actually found this to be hilarious and delightful. A bunch of werewolves running a werewolf sanctuary in a kibbutz like fashion? Adorable.

However, Benji’s idyllic family life is facing threats from both within and without. His bar mitzvah is approaching and his crushing anxiety is leaving him unable to focus on writing his speech. With everyone expecting him to be perfect, he can’t find the words to tell them about the turmoil in his mind. On top of that, his former best friend at school Caleb, has been acting horrible for months. Worse – Benji catches Caleb’s stepfather and his white supremacist pals hatching a plan to sabotage the sanctuary.

When Caleb shows up at the sanctuary -in wolf form! – Benji has to reconcile his conflicting feelings towards him. He’s still harboring a crush, and sometimes it seems like Caleb is encouraging it, but he also has a stepfather literally trying to destroy Caleb’s family. Nobody will listen to him because they keep telling him to focus on his bar mitzvah speech and Caleb is kind of freaked out at discovering he’s a werewolf (it’s a recessive trait). There were definitely moments when I just wanted to yell at everyone to shut up and listen to each other. I suppose feeling like nobody will listen to you is part of being a teen. Although Benji’s anxiety doesn’t help matters – he can barely get a few words out to his parents. Which means he and Caleb are stuck figuring out a plan together.

Where Benji Zeb really shines for me is the ending. Unlike Moulton’s first book, Benji Zeb, takes things a step further by allowing Benji to see the other side multiple times. He shows great maturity in imagining what things might be like for Claeb and his step father. Caleb is given a real and true voice and the step father is not a faceless evil, but rather someone who has made some bad choices after facing disappointment. Resolution is reached not by winning a battle, but rather through empathy, understanding and an offer to share. It was beautiful and nuanced in a way that younger readers could still understand.

I imagine after the success of Don’t Want to be your Monster, it was daunting to write a follow up. I love that it features anxiety, because that’s how I feel every time I send something out into the world never knowing how it will be received by people who liked my prior pieces, or if I’ll get any feedback at all. So I’d like to provide this bit of reassurance: as a second book, Benji Zeb is a Ravenous Werewolf shows a lot of growth and a willingness to explore new themes. I look forward to seeing where Moulton goes next – be it a new magical creature, or a new age group, or genre.

Note: BookishlyJewish received an ARC from the publisher after we asked for one.

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Holidays are a great time to bond with family over food. The day before the holiday though? Super stressful. I’m running around cooking and getting a million things done at once. I was therefore really excited to pick up Mind over Batter by Jack Hazan and bring a little more mindfulness into my baking. The book, which features mostly sweet, but also some savory, baking recipes is arranged around mental health topics. As a licensed therapist, the author talks the reader through how baking can be used to augment therapy.

As with anything meaningful, it gets real personal real fast. Hazan shares his own story of growing up with ADHD, struggling with school, and then also with being gay in a very traditional Syrian Jewish community. There is something reassuring in hearing how everything worked out in the end for him- even if some poor challah dough got kneaded to death along the way. In fact, as the author’s grandmother pointed out, the dough can take it. That’s just part of baking therapy.

The actual chapter openers weren’t really my style. The voice sounds like it would go over great in person or in audio, but feels kind of stilted when reading. However, the mindfulness tips and quick sessions included with each recipe are pure gold. They really transform the act of even rushed baking into something healing for all participants.

I decided to try out two recipes for the recent holiday – the famous Madonna approved challah, and the S’mores cookies. I’ve been on a challah kick recently, trying out many new recipes, and I will say this one gave the best results for the least complicated process. There was only a one hour prove and the bread was still light afterwards. As for the cookies – holy moly. They flew off the plate. Huge hit. Cannot recommend enough. I’m not a fan of rose water as much as Hazan (that’s OK, we come from very different geographic locals) but the recipes included modifications.

I still can’t help from rushing before Shabbat or holiday, but having this voice in my head reminding me to enjoy the moment is crucial. I turned off the mixer and slapped around the challah dough a little myself. And you know what? It did help! So cozy up and get ready to be both well fed and well cared for in the kitchen.

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I’ll never forget the day that I found out A. R. Vishny is funny. I was starting a short story critique group (still going strong!) and this wonderful writer that I admired mentioned she was interested in participating. Her story she was actually a bit of apocrypha for her novel in progress. It’s an exercise lots of writers perform to make sure their characters are well rounded. And it worked! Because the book was Night Owls and the short story made me laugh so hard the first thing I said when we opened the floor for critique was “OMG I had no idea you had a sense of humor.” Luckily she forgave me for my foot in mouth syndrome and still let me read an arc of the book.

In truth, I think she replied with something very gracious about trying to be funny but never knowing if it was working. Dear reader, it was working. It still is working. It works so hard it ought to receive overtime pay. Night Owls , a YA fantasy feature two Estries – a more obscure Jewish magical creature akin to female only vampires – named Clara and Molly who run a movie theater in the village. The theater, which is a renovated old Yiddish theater, is practically its own character and their ticket taker Boaz just so happens to see the dead. So basically everyone is keeping secrets about their magical sides from everyone else. This cozy little arrangement self implodes when Molly’s very human girlfriend disappears and Ahsomdei King of sheydim – you can think of sheydim like Jewish demons but with chicken feet – starts getting feisty.

Each character has a wonderfully detailed backstory which we learn as the novel progresses. There is a wealth of Jewish lore, including an appearance by the ring of Solomon (although it is never formally called such). Vishny has a light touch, specifically addressing the issue of blood libel surrounding Jewish vampires while also acknowledging that accepting the monstrous half of oneself is not necessarily a bad thing. Because what society calls monstrous is often just a woman trying to think for herself.

Normally I go for the sapphic plot lines, or heavily invest myself in either the magical creatures or sentient dwellings. In this case though, it was not the estries, or the theater, or the cool Yiddish stage trivia that pulled me in. It was Boaz and his freaking hilarious sense of humor. Is Kugel a pasta or cheesecake? The bit about the klezmer band (I won’t ruin it for you). His ineffable ability to say the most ridiculous yet truthful things. This guy slayed me again and again. I was so thrilled to have the chance to meet him again and discover the rest of his story.

Night Owls deals with heavy topics but it is never itself heavy. It was a joy to read, taking me only a few commutes, which is saying something since I am reading on a tiny Iphone screen with NYC public transportation shenanigans distracting me all around. Come from the movie trivia, stay for the chicken feet (I admit I am also a sucker for Ashmodei stories). There’s something for everyone here.

Note: BookishlyJewish received an arc of this book after we asked for one.

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There is nothing like some low stakes sapphic romance to get me out of a reading funk. And when I’m in need of that fix – I turn to one of my favorite indie authors, Shira Glassman. People have been reccing me her short story collection Knit One Girl Two since forever. Including a lovely article from fellow romance writers that ran as part of our last Tu B’Av feature. I should really learn to listen more, because when I finally accumulated enough digital media credits to go purchase it, I definitely got the warm fuzzies. 

The longest story, from which the collection takes its name, follows Clara as she prepares to start hand dying yarn for her next sock club. For those not in the knitting know, this means Clara dyes special yarns herself and sends subscribers enough to knit a variety of themed socks. This time around her colors are based on the art work of Danielle. To whom she just so happens to be attracted, and who volunteers to help out when more than usual orders roll in. You can guess where it goes from there. 

I did love that story, but my favorite was actually the story FEARLESS, in which a newly divorced and newly out of the closet mom takes her daughter to the All-State orchestra rehearsal and begins to have a flirtation with the butch orchestra director. It was nice to see a reminder that one is never too old to fall in love or to create art. The rediscovery of both a long abandoned musical talent and queer feelings that had long been put aside, was a real one two punch straight for the feels. And it was so gentle and reassuring at the same time. No high stakes end of the world break up to send my cortisol levels rising. Just straight up love, acceptance, and a line about kissing in one’s native language that read like music in and of itself. 

Often for trad publishing to acquire a book, even one labeled as cozy, it must torture the reader to the point of making them cry and throw the book across the room on a social media video post. Or have some ridiculous high concept hook involving the end of the world as we know it plus the death of the character of everyone they hold dear. Sometimes both. As a reader, it can get pretty exhausting. Sometimes, I don’t want to be tortured. I don’t want the world to end (or be in danger of ending even if it does get saved by the end). I just want a hug and a warm pair of socks. Knit One Girl Two provides both (although you’ll have to knit the socks yourself. Clara’s yarn is all sold out).

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A few months ago I wrote my first Holocaust adjacent piece. It was a short story, because I don’t think I can carry those particular feelings for the extended period that a novel would require, and deeply personal. It was also something that surprised me, because Holocaust narratives have never come easily to me. Not solely because I am primarily a writer of joy, but also because the fear of persecution was palpable for me during my childhood. I am grateful for the education I received, especially in a society where polls show that many gentile young people don’t even know what the Holocaust was, but I can’t recall a time in which I did not know that there were people who believed I was less than human simply for being born Jewish. Needless to say, this deeply messed me up. I am not afraid to admit that. The reality of the Holocaust is an emotionally scarring thing for a sensitive child to know in vivid detail. Which is why I appreciated the path taken by Neal Shusterman and Andrés Vera Martínez  in their YA graphic novel Courage to Dream. 

Courage to Dream features several short narratives about the Holocaust, and it doesn’t shy away from how truly awful it was, how a portion of humanity treated another portion of humanity like less than animals, but it also includes messages of hope and resistance. There is a fine line to walk between Holocaust education and trauma voyeurism. Veer too much to either side and you run the risk of sugar coating a tragedy or terrifying the living daylights out of children (and not in the good horror novel kind of way). Author and illustrator both manage to find what felt to me like a happy medium here, providing enough detail to get the message across. 

My favorite narrative was the last one, in which a young lady sees what her family would have looked like without so many branches cut off prematurely. There are entire families of cousins, holidays full of the chaos of cramming too many people into a space that just manages to fit them, a support system that she currently lacks. It is a visceral reminder of what was lost, a gut punch delivered with a tender loving embrace afterwards. The narrator of that story strives to create a better future and I hope the readers leave with that spirit too. 

There are also lighter moments – when you get to the story with the coat rod you’ll know what I mean – and Baba Yaga makes an appearance as a resistance fighter. Lesser known war stories are given the spotlight right along with the more widely known concentration camps. Public memory of even the more widely publicized aspects of the Holocaust has faded recently and Courage to Dream serves as a good reminder, especially in a time of rising antisemitism. 

It also serves as a means for young people to engage with this history and be inspired to take action in their own lives and communities. The topic is heavy but it provides hope for humanity which I think is important for young readers. But maybe also for this particular adult reader too. 

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I’ve long believed that succeeding as a woman in STEM is more about perseverance than anything else. Sure there are some super geniuses, but even for us regular folks – a career in physics, chemistry, or math should not feel unattainable. It’s just a thing to do, like any other career, except with all the pressure of breaking into a boys club. Which is why I loved the protagonist of Hannah Reynolds’s YA romance Summer Nights and Meteorites. Jordan is more into math than history, wears a lot of black, and is incredibly approachable. 

She’s also a complete mess when it comes to relationships, afraid her father has used her as an excuse not to date ever since her mother died, and is insanely jealous of her Dad’s research assistant Ethan with whom he’s been spending most of his time. Which is why she’s sworn off dating and is preparing to spend a resentful summer marooned on Nantucket where her father is based for his historical research. Unfortunately, she’s staying at Ethan’s family home (they’re Uber rich) and may have accidentally made out with him on the boat ride over before realizing who he was. Whoops

Did I mention she’s kind of a mess? But she’s a functional mess, and obtains a last minute internship with an incredibly cool astrophysicist. As part of that gig she starts looking into Nantucket’s history of female astronomers. 

Naturally, the sparks fly between Jordan and an Ethan. Readers of Hannah’s other books, Summer of Lost Letters and Eight Nights of Flirting, will find some cameos from former featured characters but everything is understandable without having read those prior books. There is also an element of found media when Jordan reads the journals of a former Nantucket astronomer and makes a shocking discovery. Interestingly, for a book in the romance section, the third act tension does not come from a break up – it comes from several side plots the biggest of which is the drama in the diaries. I won’t give it away, but in my experience Jordan’s dad vastly underestimates the ability of private foundation grant committees to hold a grudge. 

Jordan, and her boss Cora, are extremely relatable. They are regular people with regular lives who show readers that science should be attainable for anyone. Jordan wandered her way into astrophysics yet she might stay there and build a career. Both the female astronomers of Nantucket’s past and Cora are shown to face discrimination against women (and in Cora’s case women of color) in the sciences. But they set about fixing those wrongs and having laudable careers regardless. 

Science shouldn’t be a remote career path designated for Mensa members only. It’s there for anyone who wants to reach out and take it. The major requirements are an actual interest in the subject and a willingness to fail (because every scientist fails at some point). I loved watching Jordan realize that this is more than okay and that she can have both love and a career. Score one for team science. 

BookishlyJewish received an e-arc from the publisher after we requested one.

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The world of Chelm, where an angel accidentally dropped all the souls destined to become the fools of the world, has delighted Ashkenazi children for years. Every culture has their silly folklore people that think they are wise, whom they fondly blame for any ridiculous or incongruous happening in the world. Chelm is ours. A place where everything is topsy turvy and yet somehow still functions. In The Schlemiel Kids Save The Moon author Audrey Barbakoff asks a simple question – sure, the adults were silly but what about the kids?

The story that follows, and is beautifully illustrated by Rotem Teplow, has the reader realize that not all the inhabitants of Chelm are too silly to bear. When their parents are concerned that the moon has disappeared because its reflection in the lake has disappeared due to water disturbance, Sam and Sarah Schlemiel have to rescue the adults of the town from themselves. Even the wise Rabbi (a classic archetype of Chelm) is caught up in the mayhem.

The Chelm depicted in the story is a modern one – there’s running water and telephones etc. This is not your grandparents shtetl Chelm. It is also a diverse place, with a wide array of foolish townspeople all unified by their apparent inability to look up at the sky or listen to their children.

Normally, I’m not a big fan of books that get their laughs from the kids being smarter than everyone else, but in the case of Chelm it works – precisely because we know that all the adults are always silly there. It is a unique and discreet place. Although this adult reader could not help but wonder what happens when the kids grow up – do they somehow lose their intelligence? do they move? – yet I wasn’t overly bogged down by this question and I suspect children will empathize with not being listened to by the adults in their lives.

Chelm has always been a bit of a metaphor, a way for us to hold a mirror to ourselves without taking it too seriously. Perhaps that’s a bit deep for a picture book, but it just means there’s something for all levels here – whether you’re a kid who just wishes their parents would listen to them, or an adult wondering how people in the world who are supposedly wise can sometimes make choices that do not seem very wise to the rest of us. Whatever your metaphysical qualm of the day, there’s probably a Chelm story to address it. The Schlemiel Kids is a nice addition to the bunch.

BookishlyJewish received a review copy of this book from the publisher.

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Naming a character is a tricky piece of work. Sometimes the name magically reveals itself to me along with the character. Like most magic, this is rare. The rest of the time, I spend days flipping between different names, calling the character INSERT NAME in the manuscript, or pointing randomly to a phone book. In one memorable scenario, I asked to use a name from my critique partner’s childhood imagination. She was kind of shocked when this choice survived the drafting, editing, and submitting process, but I had grown rather attached to the name at that point (probably because it reminded me of her and she is awesome). In Joyful Song, written by Lesléa Newman and illustrated by Susan Gal, the main character faces a similar conundrum. Only INSERT NAME isn’t really an option, because little Zachary is on his way to the Synagogue with his two mothers to name his baby sister.

Turns out, the name has already been chosen, but as is tradition in many Jewish communities, it is not be used until it is officially bestowed before the congregation and the Torah in Synagogue. This leads to some hilarity as the family meets various community members along the way who inquire after the baby. To prevent Zachary from accidentally spilling the beans, his mothers interrupt him with cute nicknames for the baby. The neighbors are invited to join the ceremony, forming a bit of a procession, and on the way back home there is a fun repetition as they are dropped off in reverse order.

I especially enjoyed the melding of old tradition with new concepts found in the book. Although specific naming traditions vary across communities, many do have the custom not to use the name until it is officially bestowed in Synagogue. Indeed, there is some lore that indicates the giving of a name is the last vestige of prophecy left to us after the destruction of the temple. In naming a child, you partially determine or foretell their future. God speaks through the namer.

The choice to make the baby in the book assigned female at birth allows Newman to showcase some newer aspects of Jewish tradition. The naming of those assigned male at birth has always been a bit of a hoopla, because it occurs at the circumcision which is a large ritual followed by a feast. Girls, on the other hand, were named in front of the Torah ark on the days it was routinely taken out for the standard weekly readings. There were some special songs, I especially enjoy the sephardic one that references the Yonah – the dove, but it was not generally associated with a large communal gathering or party. It was a regular day of services at Synagogue. Each child has always been viewed as a gift, but these days people want to show that by also having a large celebration for a baby girl – just as large as her brother would have gotten. That celebration has taken different forms in different communities, with the baby girl naming ceremony becoming more and more popular.

Also notable are the guests at this event. Although the book does not specify, it can be inferred that many of the neighbors that inquire after the baby and come for the naming ceremony are not Jewish. Or at the very least, they are not from the same congregation and therefore not familiar with the ceremony and custom not to use the baby’s name until it is officially given. This is interesting on two levels – the first being that the family feels comfortable and friendly towards these people to the point where they invite them along. The second being that the neighbors actually accept that invitation and agree that the child is a blessing. This may seem fairly routine and normal, but it was not so long ago that every Jewish baby was thought of as a scourge upon the Earth by their non-Jewish neighbors, a thing to be destroyed and loathed, not a living, breathing, manifestation of joy. The model of community openness and mutual respect and understanding displayed here means so much to me right now, and I hope the spirit in which it was written can survive.

I don’t review picture books that often, but this year to accommodate reader feedback we are making a huge push to increase offerings across all genres on the website (my apologies to the horror fans, I struggle the most with that one). It appears I am not as much of a novice as I thought though, because the moment Joyful Song hit my hands I immediately recognized the illustrations. They were so full of vibrancy, diversity, and just this feeling of what modern Judaism encapsulates for me that I had to look up the illustrator and see if I was correct. Indeed I was! Susan Gal has also illustrated my personal favorite picture book, (also written by Newman! what a dream team!), Here is the World, which for a long time was one of the few picture books up on BookishlyJewish because of how moved I was by those illustrations. It filled me with such a great sense of joy to encounter her illustrations again.

Joyful Song is a sweet story, not just for those welcoming a new child into their home, but for anyone looking to see a community practice equality and openness. It is a book of optimism, and isn’t that the perfect feeling with which each new child should be welcomed? I won’t ruin the story by revealing the name, but let’s just say whoever chose it did an excellent job. No scouring through a phone book needed.

BookishlyJewish received an arc of this book from the publisher after they filled out our Suggest a Book Form.

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The Book of Jewish Food by Claudia Roden is one of the most comprehensive collections of Jewish food from across various Jewish cultures – Ashkenazi, Sephardic, Mizrahi etc. Yet I confess, I’ve never tried a single recipe from it. For me, Claudia Roden is not just a provider of recipes, although many are detailed in the book, she is a curator of memories. Specifically, the cultural memory of a people in diaspora who preserve their traditions and history through food. I use this book to learn about how the various lands we have lived on and the persecutions we have suffered inform our tables. Not necessarily to cook.

The Book of Jewish food is divided into two sections, one covering Ashkenazi food and one covering everything that isn’t Ashkenazi. That is obviously a hard thing to put a label on and also a much longer chapter. There are really evocative photos and postcards spread throughout, and in addition to thorough introductory chapters, side bars give information on specific foods and customs. 

Rodin herself acknowledges that it is impossible to try every recipe, to list all the variations, and so instead she chooses to focus on the ones that taste best to her. She most definitely likes sour cream more than I do (I did not previously think this was possible) and many of these dishes are prepared differently than I make them, but I didn’t mind. The point for me was the history. As Roden notes, while our communities spread out over recent years they’ve also mingled more, and current recipes have begun to cross cultures. I put tamarind paste in my holoptches. In the past that would have been a sacrilege but I think Roden would approve. 

The Ashkenazi chapter did occasionally feel slightly reductive to me, but I think this is because Roden’s background, and palette, were formed on an Egyptian and Syrian background. I can forgive her for not realizing how actually vastly different certain noodle kugels are. Plus, for all I know a person with a Sephardic background may have similar feelings about the chapters relevant to their cooking. It’s extraordinarily difficult to condense this many years of history into a recipe. Either way, I found myself engaged in the reading, even quoting fun facts to whoever happened to be around me at the time. 

If I did try one of the recipes included it would probably be teigelach because I’ve always wanted to try those but nobody I know makes them. I imagine things might take a little practice. Roden’s recipes are somewhat sparse – leaving room for those around you to tell you how they in particular did such and such back in the old country. So whatever version I make will be my version, reflective of this new country. Maybe in a few hundred years someone will write a book about it. Let’s hope it is just as thoughtful and thorough as the Book of Jewish Food. 

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I have one special rolling pin that nobody besides for me is allowed to touch. When it goes missing, there is a mass panic and I cannot function. It’s a wooden french pin that works really wonderfully for rolling out everything from pie crust to hamentasch dough, but that’s not the reason it is so special to me. I love that pin because my grandmother taught me how to use it and every time I do, she is with me again. Carine Goren captures that nostalgia in her book Traditional Jewish Baking: Retro Recipes Your Grandma Would Make…If she Had a Mixer.

My own grandmother most definitely did not make most of the recipes in this book. For certain she was not using jello and she was not a big cheesecake fan either. Who had that back in Poland or Russia? She was more of a compote person. However, I distinctly recall the homemade checkerboard cake on the front cover of Traditional Jewish Baking appearing a few times in my childhood. It’s unclear who made it – turns out most of the women in my family in prior generations were not huge fans of spending time in the kitchen. A fact you’d never know from the way they took care to have the littles bake with them and the joy they took in feeding us.

Maybe that’s the point. They wanted to instill a memory and Goren is trying to keep that memory alive by bringing back some old school recipes that have fallen by the way side due to being too finicky or too old fashioned for modern tastes. The first recipe I tried was Flan. Goren’s instructions were flawless, and made the creation of this intimidating custard dessert fairly simple. I still managed to set off the smoke alarm and burn the caramel until I got the hang of it (turns out you really can’t turn your back on it for even a second) but I’d prefer not to dwell on that incident. Once I aired out the house and started again the results were wonderful.

There’s something special about baking and eating together as a family. I’m planning to try several of these classics, including the cheesecake. Who knows, maybe I’ll even whip out the copper jello molds. The nostalgia wafting off every page of Traditional Jewish Baking is more than worth the effort.

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